A Pitcher of Margaritas
by MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: Natasha is an affectionate drunk, and Loki is quick to exploit that to his advantage. Blackfrost oneshot; complete.


**A Pitcher of Margaritas**

* * *

_NOTE - Just maybe I drank a lot of margaritas last night and wrote tequila-inspired blackfrost; consider this my Walk of Shame._

* * *

"Fuck you, you fucking fuckers, for fucking up my fucking shit." Natasha kicked the door closed with a crash, slung her bag across the room, and looked around for something on which to vent her anger. Her gaze fell on Loki, lounging on the sofa.

He peered over his book. "I suppose the quest did not go well?"

"You suppose correctly. The op was hosed by Ward's huge ego, as usual." Natasha smacked his feet with the flat of her hand. "Get your ass into the kitchen and fetch me the largest, coldest, strongest drink ever in the history of drinks."

Loki knew it was wise to obey at once. He padded to the kitchen and found to his dismay they had run out of vodka; however, behind the half-hearted collection of spices he discovered a leftover bottle of tequila. The fridge yielded several limes, and he hacked into Jarvis for sugar and a large quantity of snacks. Just as he prepared to bring the tray into the tiny living room, Natasha appeared in the doorway. "Where the hell is my – oh YESSSSS." She grabbed the margarita, closed her eyes, and downed the entire glass.

He watched the falling level of alcohol with awe. Luckily Loki had made a back-up pitcher; he poured more into her glass and herded the agent onto the couch. "Here, have another."

Natasha Romanov, the deadliest assassin in nine realms, drank deeply, licked her lips, and sighed. "Damn, that's good. You know what? Everyone goes on and on about how you're a villain and such a douche, but you're okay." She made air quotes to emphasize her point.

Hurriedly he refilled her glass. "Is that so?"

"Totally." She waved the margarita to make her point; Loki avoided the slosh of liquid over the rim.

"Maybe you should inform Commander Fury of his mistake in that case," he said idly.

She shot up on the couch and spilled more of her drink. "I should! That is a great idea. That is one stellar, fantastic, amazing idea."

Loki suddenly realized he was onto a good thing. "More margarita? And look, I have the avocado dip you like."

"Mmmmm." Natasha ate a chip, chased it with a long swallow, and closed her eyes in pleasure. "This is the best fucking guacamole I ever ate. And margaritas! Damn. The guy who invented margaritas should be canonized."

"Oh, that was me," Loki lied. "During a sojourn within a mistletoe plant I came up with the recipe."

She squinted at him. "So you're the demigod of tequila too?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yes."

Natasha put down her drink and climbed into his lap. "Know what? I love you so much. You're the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen, and you're hung like a pack mule. Why would I not?" Her breath, tinted with lime and spirits, was cool and delicious.

"Why not indeed?" Forcing a look of calm, Loki saw he was onto an inspired line of luck. He meant to spin a line of compliments, tell her how her tiny body and steeled courage had stolen his heart. He wanted to add how lovely she was with her face flushed and hair curling every which way like wildfire, how she bothered his dreams each night, how she danced just out of his reach by refusing all his romantic advances while she allowed him to sleep with her - always on her terms. Loki was about to launch into all of that, when the agent kissed him and yanked his shirt open. "Take me to bed," she demanded as she curled her legs around his waist.

He stood so quickly they nearly overbalanced; she murmured and blew into his ear. Drunk with desire, Loki staggered to the bedroom. He was so overcome he nearly forgot to bring the pitcher of margaritas.

When she saw the drinks, Natasha crowed with delight. "See? That's what I'm talking about. And you're intelligent as well. Would another guy remember the alcohol with such a stiffie?" She caressed his crotch.

"No, they would not." Loki couldn't hold back triumphant laughter any longer, and she glared.

"What's so fucking funny?"

"Nothing. I laugh with happiness, agent." He followed that up with a series of kisses and licks on her neck.

"Oh." She considered, shrugged. "That's cool, I guess, although…"

"Why do we not lie down, and you can lick more shots from my body?" Loki pointed to the hollow at his throat; he didn't want her to start thinking too much. Things were going extremely well with this new, drunk, sloppy, adorable Natasha. "Here, for example."

"Absolutely." She ignored the hollow of his throat, poured cold tequila into his navel, and lapped it. Her tongue snaked down to his breeches; with hurried fingers Loki unlaced himself and arched back as she wrapped one hand around him. "Fuck, you're so fucking huge. How are you single? That is the stupidest thing I ever heard. Anyone who ever denied you is the dumbest dumbass I know."

"Ridiculous, is it not?" Loki stretched, found a box he had hidden in the dresser, and opened it to reveal a slender band. "Perhaps you should end all that, Natasha."

"Fuck yeah!" She grabbed the ring, jammed it onto her finger, and resumed kissing and sucking him.

Loki's jaw dropped with delight. It was the best night of his long life; why had he not considered making margaritas months earlier when he first lost his heart? He was unable to resist pulling her up for more kisses. Stealthily he snaked down the zipper of her catsuit, groaned as she wriggled enthusiastically out of her clothes, and shouted with triumph when at last he slid into the wet, tight, wonderful warmth that was Natasha.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of muttered curses and running water. Loki vaulted out of the bed and, entirely naked, tiptoed to the bathroom. There Natasha was trying to remove the ring he had given her the night before; she lathered it with soap and squirted on moisturizer. "I can save you the effort," he said, crossing his arms. "It will not come off."

"What?" Natasha squinted at him. "What happened last night, exactly?"

"The short version is you promised yourself to me." Loki pointed. "Hence, the ring."

"Promised. What does that mean, exactly?"

He smiled blandly. "Whatever you want it to mean. For the moment, I would like to think we are bound to lie with each other. We can make more plans later, agent."

Natasha stared. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck."

"Is it so bad? I promise to deliver sex whenever you wish. And I will make you margaritas."

She stabbed one finger at his face. "That innocent look of yours tells me there's more to it than that."

Loki pressed one hand to his heart. "Natasha, I am wounded."

"Cut the bullshit." He was about to laugh and release the illusion holding the ring onto her finger – it had been worth it to feel promised to her, if only for one night – when she shrugged and jerked open the shower curtain. Her long, elegant fingers turned on the water with quick, angry movements, and she beckoned to him. "Whenever I like, right? It starts now, buddy."

He bounded forward and rescued the slippery soap from her fingers. "Yes, indeed."

"And you'll make me more drinks tonight."

Loki spread soapsuds over her chest and belly so he could slither delightfully against her. "Very well."

"And you will…"

He cut her off by backing her up against the shower wall. "Enough demands for now," Loki said, and he covered Natasha's mouth with his.


End file.
